The True Archer
by angelofpeaceandwar045
Summary: A unnamed Archer has been summoned instead of, the King of Heroes, Gilgamesh. The Fourth Grail War has a servant just like Emiya Kiritsugu. Tokiomi Tohsaka does not realize, yet, that he has summoned a man more powerful than the one he intended. This Archer does not only want to win but will do everything he can to make up for the mistakes of the past. And he is not alone.
1. Chapter 1

Pain surged through him. Grievous wounds riddled him and tore away his life. Each passing rhythm of his heartbeat was slower than the last. It was like knives were tearing through him from the inside. There was so much pain, too much. Even for a man like him. A life full of pain and death seemed to pale to this occurrence. Nothing would stop this end, nothing at all. A part of him even welcomed it.

He could no longer claim the lives of his enemies. If he had anymore left then it would be a problem. Fortunately, he can claim to no longer have any. The same went for friends.

All those he had once called ally lay around him. They were either whole or in pieces. Most would call the act horrendous. Some could claim that the work of Dante came to be. Nightmares were created through this work. No Circle in Hell could be this grotesque.

The docks were littered with arms and legs. Mangled corpses seeped the streams of blood eerily creeping towards the bay. It was a sight so horrid, mangled was not a proper word. Some carcasses lacked limbs and eyes but that paled to the others. One man had two noses, his face split down the middle. Another man no longer had skin covering his spine let alone the fabric from the Church. He was a poor, mostly foolish, excecutor but he was one of the many sent and the weakest of them. He still hesitated, showing his naivety, and was probably no more than a veteran of a year, possibly two but doubtful. It was a shame that neither he nor the others would be returning.

Then again, never send the sheep to kill a lion. Death is often the result. They knew to fear him when they were alone but they should have kept the same fear, even with twenty. No sheep could kill a lion.

He was considered the best the Church had. He was ruthless and he was calculating. Every life he claimed served a purpose and every life he spared another. Nothing was left to chance with him. Kiritsugu would be proud of him for such cunning. His son had become the Hero his father never could.

Sadly, he was most likely disgusted. He never wanted a life of a Magus for the boy. He refused him magic. He refused to show him the skill he needed until he finally granted the boy his wish.

"Damn," Shirou whispered. Thinking was becoming more difficult task.

The death around him was beginning to dampen his thoughts. A soft chuckle passed through bloody lips. Droplets spurted from a broken smile. What else could he do but laugh?

A dream brought this end to him. Not the dream a foolish boy devoted his existence to but the dream of a broken man. Not the dream Kiritsugu had wanted his whole life but this was Shirou's dream. This one he did not borrow.

He remembered being considered a fool for his first dream. He was chastised for the aspiration for many years since it was considered foolish by everyone he knew. At times he did as well but stayed true to that path. Even common senses' whispering and pleading could not bring him to abandon the notion. Not until years after he first aspired to be a hero did he finally abandon the hope. Ciel was proud when he did and gave him his crimson coat days later.

"Think of it as a present," the burial agent said. "A welcome present to the world of the sane." At least she treated him to dinner that night. She bought the ingredients and allowed him to cook for her family. Curry was the requested dish.

Shirou found the small things in the world meant the most. The coat was a rather comfortable accessory and he was grateful for it as much as he was for the opportunity to cook for a family again. Simple things always had a great deal of meaning.

Dreams were such things.

The new dream was far better than the first. That one he could fulfill and Shirou did just that. There was, however, a cost but there are prices worth paying.

_There are prices worth paying. _

Shirou could not bring himself to regret that decision. He was happy with it. The happiest he had been his entire life.

Being a hero was not even a second choice. It was such a foolish dream.

Emiya Shirou continued his ragged and final breaths. They were like swords in his lungs. They pierced him and maimed him. Death was such a beautiful thing to look forward to. He wanted it to claim him but he wanted it to leave him as well. There were still other things to focus on. Breathing was the most important. It was a true irony indeed.

More blood continued to flow from him. His skull had gashes and was, most likely, fractured. Shirou's iconic reinforcement, what made him a feared killer, had finally failed him. Then again, he was surprised he held himself against the twenty that came for him. Was it even twenty?

Shirou did not remember how many he faced.

_Was it twenty or was it thirty? How many did they send to kill me? How many did they send for them? _

Shirou decided his thoughts could be focused on better things. He owed himself that much. He felt that, as a Magus Killer, he deserved such a reprieve. He did serve the Church faithfully until he earned the dismissal. He preferred the word _retirement_ instead.

The blood was becoming more and more of a problem. One of them managed to get him on the head with a pistol. Shirou wondered how he could have forgotten to reinforce himself. The man was the third to last of them. He was so close to finishing them and gave himself away. A dagger then found a home in the gut of the nuisance. T.E. Lawrence did know a good blade from a bad one. The Jambia was excellent piece of craftsmanship.

The pistol was utter shit. American made might be good for something's but Shirou could not bring himself to trusting their pistols. Italian and German make always served him better.

_Shame about the pistol though, _Shirou looked down. The pistol, like the one Kiritsugu used years ago, was no useless and broken. Now in a dozen pieces it was useless.

_The old bastard, the damn old bastard, _Shirou cursed in his mind. Speaking was too painful. Even if he wanted to, he no longer had the strength.

The woman, the second to last of them to die, was very reluctant to do so. She kept fighting. A broken arm could barely slow down her punches. A blown off knee could barely cripple her. It took Shirou cutting off other leg with the Wallace Sword, the blade of the famous Scottish Rebel William Wallace. Then shoving a grenade in her mouth before pulling the pin and making chum out of her.

It was such a shame she had to die. She was very beautiful. She was tall, long legs and a body built for sin. A shame she lived the life she did. She could have been anything else and no one would have argued with her. The blue eyes helped her but the hair was beautiful itself. It was a rich plum.

_It's just like Sakura's but hers was better, much better. _Thinking of her brought nothing but pain to Shirou. So he let her fade from mind, just like the crimson left by the Servant of the Church faded into the ocean.

The more Shirou thought, the more the pain kissed him. It was like a terrible lover, always trying to make up for disappointment with kissing. A difficult endeavor he had only faced once. To her benefit, they were only in high school.

The final man he killed was also the one who brought his apparent heresy to their light. He confessed to his crime before the battle began. He said he wanted to see everything unfold. To see Hell spread across the Earth, for a moment if nothing else. It was why he watched the conflict unfold until they were the final ones left standing.

Despite being wounded, Shirou stood tall. His felt his skull was broken. His arms screamed in agony from the fighting and his legs were no better. He matched every man and woman he faced punch for punch. His faking did come in handy. It spared him from using his hands, not that he minded. Shirou was no novice to killing people with his hands. He hand done it before.

"Die," he shouted. He summoned forth Kanshou and Bakuya. The blades he found to suit him best. The same blades crafted by Gān Jiàng and his wife Mò Yé, the smith couple from China. They had crafted the finest of blade ever created. The Yin and Yang, the light and dark. They were beautiful and they were death.

The last man drew six blades as Shirou surged forward, like a Rider. They were the iconic Black Keys, the blades of the Church. They were the Black Keys, blades used to hunt demons and bring the enemies of the Church to their knees. Their steel purified the World through the cleanest of ways, through death.

The Priest stood tall as he watched his former pupil charge at him. They both knew neither of them would see the end of this. Death was the only outcome for them.

Shirou fought because he knew there was nothing else he could do. His enemy fought because there was nothing else he cared for other than death. It made them natural rivals.

The Priest threw a blade at Shirou. He swung Bakuya and the Black Key landed in the dying body of a Magus. He howled once more before death. Another Black Key flew towards him, Kanshou raced to meet it. This time the steel met cement.

Shirou continued to scream at the top of his lungs. His arms raised and moving down, he intended to slice the bastard in half. They clashed steel against steel. The Priest was well over fifty, and near sixty, but still had the reflexes of a man in his twenties. The only difference was that he was had none of the foolishness.

Their steel clashed in sync. They fought like the knights of old. The Samurai paled to them. The Centurions of Caesar would fall. Even the Myrmidons would bow to them.

Shirou hunched over as the Priest managed to find his stomach. The legendary blades faded. The battle was over.

"Like I told you boy," he whispered in his emotionless voice. The Priest had no soul, let alone conscious. This was the ideal man of the cloth. "Only monsters can become heroes." He towered over his former pupil. His steel was ready to kill once again. "Not foolish little boys. It seems I wasted my time teaching y-"

"I'm not a hero," Shirou whispered. A new blade formed in his hands. This was the blade used by the leader of the 47 Ronin, Ōishi Yoshio. This old Japanese steel seemed fit for situation at hand. Yoshio hated Kira as much as Shirou hated this Priest, yet the samurai did not hold the same respect for his enemy as he did. Now, it did not matter.

"I'm just a man," the katana twisted inside the Priest. "And I have been waiting to kill you for the longest of times." In a fluid motion, the man of cloth stumbled forward and the blade came crashing down, leaving only air where there was once a head.

Shirou remembered walking away, he remembered taking his last few steps before slouching next to the shipping container his back comfortably rested against. He could not bear to look at the carnage. He wanted something more pleasant too view. He earned it after all.

The plastic was a familiar feeling to his fingertips. An effort to preserve the worn pictures had failed miserably. Shirou had the habit of staring at them most of the day, when he was not around them. A husband and a father had that right, after all.

They were his new dream. They were the reason for why he was dying. No one would threaten them, not as if his protection was needed. His wife was fearsome by herself, even if no one but him knew it. Appearances did have tendency to underplay people, a lesson he had learned himself. An incredibly painful lesson he learned.

Somehow, Shirou did not think in mattered anymore. They were both safe now.

_Safe but gone_, his words were heavy but necessary. Those eyes of his were no better but he continued to gaze at their faces. _They are beautiful. _

His daughter had white hair like him. The Priest did warn him the experiments would alter more than just his appearance; his genetic code must have been one. Still, he preferred his new height, blue eyes and white hair compared to that red haired boy he once was. The power he gained was a nice bonus as well. Rational thinking was also a treat.

Shirou's thoughts began to fill with the images of his daughter, his sweet little girl. His struggle to keep his eyes open began to worsen. Heaviness was a simple way of stating they were cementing close. His stubbornness began to make itself known, he refused sleep and his thoughts wandered.

"Father," he remembered her saying. This memory was pleasant, and painful nonetheless. "I'm seven now, I'm too old for you to pick me up." What kind of little girl refused her Father's love?

"What's this Father business," he questioned her with a smirk. His gestures and expressions either made his wife blush or his daughter sigh. He loved them both the same, each of them was equally entertaining. "I was daddy yesterday when I tucked you in and I was daddy when you woke up this morning. Now, three hours later, I'm Father? Why are you in such a hurry to grow up?"

"I'm a woman now," she insisted. "I'm seven. You said it yourself. 'You're seven and your becoming a woman now.' So now I'm a woman, and women don't call their Father's daddy but Father. I'm not that little girl anymore." She crossed her arms and frowned. _Just like her mother_. "I'm a woman now."

His little angel was always so stubborn. "Well then," he knelt next to her and wrapped his arms around her. "You'll always be my little girl. No matter how grown up you and I say you are and didn't you just call me daddy right there?" Whether it was his wife or daughter, teasing caused them to blush and throw fits. Picking them up and twirling them in the air was one of his favorite ways of doing it.

"Put me down," her voice became demanding and her face red. She traded out the little girl for a mean one, tried at least. "I'm not little! I'm grown now! I'm a woman!" She tried to suppress her giggling but she loved it. She always did.

_Just like her mother, so stubborn and so headstrong._

"Of course, sweetheart," he remembered placing her back down on her feet and kissing her forehead.

"Stop it," then her little feet carried her back to the safety of her castle, as she called her room. "I'm leaving," now she was going to be reading. She said she wanted to get started on her new books, as courtesy of mom, dad, uncles and aunts. Never mind clothes or dolls, or whatever it is little girls wanted. She wanted books. Not just any kind of books.

His daughter wanted books filled with heroes.

She acted like she never read all those stories before. Every night he read her another story. Every night was filled with ancient battles, knights, heroes, monsters and dragons. She would want him to read to her later, being a woman did have a cost. A price, he knew, she did not want to pay.

"Hercules is my favorite," she told him before she grabbed his neck and nearly crushed the life from him before he made her, her birthday breakfast. "Achilles and Perseus are cool too…but I mean killing a Prince and a Gorgon are not cool compared to holding the heavens. Hercules is the best hero of them all. But Jason…he was cool. He had the Argonauts following him they got the golden blanket… EVEN HERCULES WAS AN ARGONAUT! SO JASON IS MY FAVORITE NOW! CAUSE HE HAD HERCULES FOLLOWING HIM!"

Shirou knew to let her have the fantasy. Hercules was not his favorite hero and Jason was nothing more than a pompous prick and did not deserve the title. Even if he did have the Argonauts behind him, and even if the Son of Zeus was one of them. Now she had her Greek Hero phase. Last time it was the Knights of Europe. Before, she obsessed with Samurai and then there was the Gladiator phase. She seemed to being a living collection of Heroes. She was going forwards and backwards, then left and right. There seemed to be no end to it in sight, she was probably reading the book he got her on Robin Hood.

Shirou felt the thief would be a nice change of things.

"She probably wants to be an Argonaut." He sighed and turned round. Arms enveloped him and grasped his waste tightly. A lightweight was on his shoulder and a familiar tickle graced his face. That long hair always tickled him.

"Let her have her fun," his wife whispered. "It's only a phase, I'm sure she'll let you read to her tonight." Shirou felt her smile on his shoulder. It was a nice feeling. "If not, then I'll take over. It's a mother's duty after all."

Sometimes she wound up teasing him. It was nice.

"What about the father's duty," he countered. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Please, husband," she untangled herself and Shirou lowered his head. She was barely whispering. He waited for her respond but shuttered. He did not expect her to place her lips next to his ear. "You must please me." She blew into his lob before letting go and walking away. It left him in a euphoric state of mind, at least until his daughter wailed.

_Another bad ending_, he sighed before resuming his fatherly duties.

He was going to miss this life. Shirou was going to miss his wife. She was strong. Hercules was nowhere near as strong. He knew she would be fine. Then with the little one to worry about, there was no danger at all. Their safety was something he did not need to worry about.

Shirou made sure all the right precautions were taken. All the right people were contacted.

_They will be safe now. They will be safe now. _

His daughter would hate him. That would be a safe assumption. More than one of her favorite heroes had a grudge against their parents. Somehow, he knew he would be no different but a price as such was worth paying.

_She is just like her mother. She is so very like her…she'll hate me forever because of this. _Shirou felt a smile creep upon his lips, chuckling followed. Maybe she would hate him but then maybe she would never forgive him. But then, she did not need to know such things. Thoughts and realities such as those have no place in a child's world but then again, he had no right either.

_This is easier for them…much easier. _Their hate, Shirou began to realize, was the price he had to pay. The price he had to pay for them. _A steep but necessary one, _he wanted to spit out the blood filling his mouth but could not find the strength_. _His mind continued to wander.One day he might be graced with their forgiveness but such a day may never come. Neither of them were the forgiving type.

The strength in Shirou's arm faded. It was begging him to let the picture go but he refused. The worthless thing crashed against the cement but the picture remained. The last ounce of strength he had was focused in those fingertips and keeping his eyes open. He refused the darkness awaiting him. It would have to work for its next claim.

Shirou's already blurred vision began to blur. The shadows of the night were beginning to blur into a bright white haze. He kept what focus he had on the photograph.

His wife and daughter were smiling at him. The little one had her arms around her stuffed bear. Her mother had her arms around her. Their bright eyes were staring at him. His daughter had her mother's eyes. Those two pairs of beautiful bright eyes were the most beautiful marvels he had ever seen.

"I love you, daddy."

"I love you, Shirou"

The breathing slowly faded. His vision brightened until he saw nothing. The pain had disappeared and Emiya Shirou had died his first true death. He died with his eyes open and a smile etched on his face. His heart was heavy with regret but a conscious clear.

Then came a voice.

The agreement had come to full circle. The Holy Grail now had a new Servant at its disposal.

**So this is the beginning to, **_**The True Archer. **_**It will follow him through the Fourth Holy Grail War. As you can imagine, it is a highly AU story. In it, I imagine Shirou in a more realistic light. He had received training from Kiritsugu and the Yakuza, in different areas before and after the Magus Killer's death. It makes him a bit more realistic, I believe, and not so much of a Mary Sue type. **

**Some chapters will be decently long, others will be shorter and more to the point.**

**If anyone is interested, I could use a Beta to help me edit.**

**Also, if anyone is interested, I have another story called the Unknown Prince. It is a based in the Song of Ice and Fire Universe and follows the Rhaegar and Lyanna theory of Jon Snow being their son. You can check it out on my page. I can use a beta for that as well.**

**The next chapter takes place during the summoning of the heroes. Should be up in a week or so. Thanks for reading, and have a great day. If you can, please leave a review. Again, thanks for reading.**

**Updated and Edited on 20 April 2014. **


	2. Important Update for the Readers

An Important Notice:

Hey there True Archer readers. I regret to inform you that I will not be updating the story for the next few weeks. I'm currently dealing with some issues. Most have been resolved while others have yet to be.

Don't worry though, the story is not over and I will update three new chapters next time I do. Thanks for your support and have a good one.


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